


Ups and downs

by Builder



Series: Pantherverse [3]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Motion Sickness, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Sickfic, Vomiting, dad clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 14:25:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14717808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: It's not that Stark's tech is bad by any means...  It's just that Wakandan jets are less prone to turbulence.





	Ups and downs

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt from tumblr. Find me @builder051

“After you,” Nat says, holding the quinjet’s door open for T’Challa.

“Thank you.”  T’Challa ducks his head and enters what he can only describe as a backseat.  The craft is built for speed, but it seems small compared to its Wakandan counterparts.  He takes a seat beside Clint.  Nat sits across from him, their knees nearly touching.

“Alright,” Stark says from the cockpit.  “Not a long flight, but if you want to read the safety procedures on the cards under your chairs…” he says with a chuckle.

“Are we likely to have to make an emergency landing?” T’Challa asks, concerned.

“Of course not.  The law says I have to have emergency procedures, that’s all,” Stark explains.  “There’s weather between here and Ukraine, though.  That’s just what happens when you have to cross an ocean.”  T’Challa watches him shake his head, wondering if the worry seeding in his gut has a basis after all.

The first half hour of the flight is fine.  Nat quizzes them all on conversational Russian, at which Clint is surprisingly good and T’Challa laughably bad.

“Let me ask you questions in my language next,” he says.  “Then we’ll see who’s on the losing end.”

Stark and Clint quickly tap out.  Nat smiles and shakes her head.

A few minutes of quiet ensue, then there’s a hiss and a curse from the cockpit.

“What?” T’Challa asks, sitting up straighter in his seat.

“That’s a fucking cloud bank if I’ve ever seen one,” Stark mutters.  “Hold tight.  This is gonna get…turbulent.”  The words are barely out of his mouth when the jet begins to wobble.

T’Challa instinctively grips the edges of his seat and braces his feet against the floor.

“Hey, relax.”  Nat pats his knee.  “It’s fine.  We’ve survived weather way worse than this.”

The jet bounces up and down, and T’Challa’s stomach feels like it’s rebounding with it.  He carefully unclamps one hand from the bottom of his chair and drapes his arm over his abdomen.  “Does it…does it not have stabilizers?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course it does,” Stark says, sounding insulted, “But we’ve got to conserve fuel on long hauls, so  _excuse me_ for turning off the special features.”

“My apologies.  I did not mean to criticize,” T’Challa murmurs.

“Oh, don’t mind him.”  Nat shakes her head and flashes a grin.  “He’s just being sensitive.”

“I am not,” Stark shoots back.

Nat ignores him and gives T’Challa a closer look.  “You ok?”

T’Challa feels as if his heart and his stomach have traded places, and both are throbbing frenetically.  There’s an excess of spit in his mouth, and he swallows hard before answering.  “Yes.  Yes, I’m fine.”

Nat looks to Clint.  “Do you have a bag?”

“A what?”

“You know, like a grocery sack or something?”

“No,” T’Challa interrupts, “Don’t worry.  I’m fine.”  But he undermines himself with a sick burp that he has to quell behind his fist.

“Yeah, I’m a regular boy scout.”  Clint fumbles with his backpack and comes up shaking out a wadded plastic bag.

“Please, I’m alright,” T’Challa insists, even as acid bursts into his throat.  He knows there’s no fighting it, but he’s still hard-wired to avoid the embarrassment.  He gags into his fist, and Nat’s hand comes down on his shoulder, gently guiding him to lean forward.  Sick splashes through T’Challa’s fingers and into the bag with a horrible crinkling sound.

“Aw, geez.  Really?”  Stark says, glancing over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” T’Challa chokes out.

“Hey.  Eyes on the horizon,” Nat snaps at Stark.  She gently rubs T’Challa’s back and whispers, “It’s fine.  We’ve all seen worse.”

“Yeah, trust me on that one.  I think pretty much everybody on the team’s had an ‘incident’ on a jet at least once.  Remember the mess Rogers made his first time?”  Clint laughs.  “Consider it an initiation.”

“Ok, we’re not talking about that,” Stark says.  “I can see out of the clouds now.  We’ve got maybe…five more minute of this.  Can everybody hold tight till then?”  He glances over his shoulder again.

T’Challa drags the back of his shaking hand over his lips.  “I think so,” he breathes, hoping to convince himself as much as anyone else.  “When we get back on the ground…you must not tell Shuri.”

Nat grins.  “Of course not.”


End file.
